Chapter 17

Maverick

Waking up after the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while, I feel refreshed. The night didn’t go exactly as planned. Carys isn’t lying next to me. But talking with her and making out in the office did relieve some tension and helped ease the tightness that had resided in my chest since my phone call with my father.

My grandfather’s words of everything will look better in the morning filter through my mind. Followed by: when in doubt, sleep on it.

I’ve decided as far as my father will know, I’m investigating the properties he listed out for me, meeting with owners, and negotiating deals. What he won’t know is that I plan to scout out new properties, as well. I realize this could potentially get me fired. He was very straightforward regarding his intentions if I don’t follow through with his plan, but since I don’t really care anymore, I’m doing what I want and I’m going to protect the Blue Bayou. Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen a lot of boarded up buildings, just sitting empty waiting for new life to be breathed into them. I feel like there’s an equal or better opportunity out there, and if I can find it and perhaps save my father’s client some money in the process, I don’t know how he could refuse it.

Before I leave to meet with a property owner and walk through a few buildings, I check a couple things off my to-do list. Picking up the small tool box George lent me, I walk down the hall and pause at the fourth banister. I take a wrench and tighten the bolts at the bottom, putting some elbow grease behind it until the wrought iron no longer squeaks.

Next, with George’s help and disapproval, I set about replacing the light bulbs in the stairway chandelier. “Mr...Maverick,” George starts. “I’ll get to this. There is no need for you to...” His comments trail off as I ascend the ladder.

I have no doubt he would replace the bulbs, but to reach the fixture, the ladder has to be precariously balanced on the edge of the landing leading to the second floor. There was no way I was going to let him climb it.

“No worries, George. It’ll only take me a second.” Reaching the top, I look down at him and give him a reassuring smile. So much about him reminds me of my grandpa—salt of the earth, hard worker, stubborn as a mule.

“Miss Carys won’t...” he begins but stops when the ladder wiggles.

I laugh, partly due to nerves and partly due to his mention of Carys.

“Miss Carys won’t what, George? Like that I’m fixing her light fixture?” I ask, breathing heavy for such a menial task. “I think she’ll get over it when the foyer is once again bright and shiny. Toss me a rag and I’ll give it a good dusting while I’m up here.”

George huffs and mutters under his breath, but he retrieves a rag and tosses it to me, all while holding onto the ladder with one hand, refusing to let it go.

George and I make a pretty good team.

Once we’ve stored the ladder back in the maintenance closet, I grab my bag and phone. “I’ll see you this afternoon,” I tell him, stopping for a glass of water and pausing. “Where did these come from?”

On the small cart where the ice cold, fruit infused water always sits, there is a plate of bright blue macarons. My mouth immediately starts to drool. I’m not sure if it’s the memory of how good the small cookies are, or the vision of Carys covered in flour and sugar, looking more delicious than I can even put in words. Regardless, I instinctively grab one and pop it in my mouth. The entire cookie. I don’t have time for bites and nibbles. I need the whole thing.

“Miss Carys. Apparently, she couldn’t sleep last night.”

I smirk at the wall in front of me, thankful my back is turned to George, because I couldn’t look him in the eye while having sinful thoughts about someone he considers a granddaughter.

Snagging two more for the road, I mumble around the cookie in my mouth. “Can you tell her thank you and that I’ll be back later? Oh, and give her this.”

Quickly, I slip the note out of my pocket and turn back around to hand it to George, who is giving me a sly smile.

“Will do,” he says with a nod.

Waving over my shoulder, I head out the door and into the early New Orleans morning.

After mine and Carys’ little tryst in the office yesterday, I spent the rest of the afternoon working in the lobby, while she worked the front desk and got some office work done. I just wanted to be close to her, hear her laugh when talking to guests, and catch her glances when she threw them my way. When I couldn’t stop fidgeting from wanting to touch her so badly, I went for a run. I needed it. I’ve neglected my workouts the past week and I can tell.

When I got back, Carys was talking with Jules and they were going over the schedule for next week, so I left them to it. Went back to my room, showered, jerked off, and fell asleep early. I didn’t mean for that to happen. My intentions were to find Carys and spend the night with her, but my plans were foiled. Again. I’m starting to feel like the universe is against us being together, but then I remind myself that it allowed me to find this place. So, I’m banking on fate just taking its slow, easy time.

But I’m also a guy who takes fate into his own hands, so I left her a note.

Mess,

I’m tired of eating alone. Please accompany me to dinner tonight. I’ll be in your lobby at 7:00 sharp. Also, the beds at the Blue Bayou are spectacular. Would you like to sleep in mine?

Mav

In reality, I’ve only known Carys for a little over a week, but it feels like so much more. I don’t know why, can’t really put my finger on it, but I’ve felt connected to her since our first conversation. When we’re together, I feel like I’m talking with an old friend. She’s a favorite song, or that new song you hear on the radio, but swear you’ve heard before. This odd combination of fresh and familiar is something I can’t get enough of.

I’ve heard of people falling in love after a few days together, and I still call bullshit on that, but there’s definitely some instant attraction happening. In a short amount of time, she’s worked her way under my skin and I haven’t even had her in my bed yet.

Yet is the key word there.

Huffing a laugh at my fucking poetic waxing, I turn the corner and step into the full view of the cathedral. This scene is one that never gets old. I could walk these streets every day and never get tired of it. The thought actually makes me a little jealous of people who get to live here full time.

Except for the heat.

Fuck this heat.

And fuck this humidity.

My balls are already sweating at ten in the morning.

Instead of heading to Neutral Grounds, I walk to a bench in the shade and begin making phone calls. I don’t want CeCe overhearing my conversations. They could easily be misconstrued.

“Hello, Mr. Grainger. This is Maverick Kensington from Kensington Properties. I’m calling about your property at...”

This same phone call is repeated half a dozen times until I’ve made it through every location on the list my father gave me. Some of them, I had to acquire myself, which is what I did yesterday morning, footwork. I walked around the block, peeking in abandoned windows and writing down any number or identifying information. It wasn’t too hard to track down the few missing contacts.

I’m able to talk to three of the six. The others didn’t answer, so I’ve left messages for them. Two of the three I spoke with agreed to walk-throughs tomorrow and are very interested in selling. It feels like wasted work, because ultimately, I’m not giving in on the Blue Bayou...and Carys won’t be selling. But I feel like I have to do this part of things to keep my dad from flying his ass down here and ruining everything. So, I just look at this as buying time.

After stopping in Neutral Grounds for an iced coffee, I start hoofing it to the vacant properties I’ve seen around. The ones that are in larger clusters are on the outskirts of the Quarter. If I had to guess, it’s the Blue Bayou’s proximity to Jackson Square and Bourbon Street that makes it so appealing. So, I walk in the other direction, eventually running across a few potential locations. Jotting down the addresses and any information I see, I turn to make my way back to the Bayou.

It’s almost two o’clock and I haven’t eaten anything since Carys’ macarons, so I stop by a small bistro down the street for a late lunch to hold me over until dinner, using the time to call my father.

“Maverick.” That’s always my father’s greeting. No, “Hey son, how are you?” Just, “Maverick.”

“Father,” I reply, equally terse.

There’s a rustling on the other end as he shuffles papers and talks to his assistant. “I’m hoping you’re calling with good news.”

“I have a meeting tomorrow morning with two of the owners. I’ve made contact with three of the six, but I’m having trouble reaching the others.” One of those miscommunications is entirely intentional on my part.

“And the Blue Bayou?”

“That’s a negative. The owner has been unavailable.” That’s not entirely a lie. Carys has been busy and extremely preoccupied.

“You know it’s the granddaughter of the original owner. So, convincing her to sell—giving her an out—should be a piece of cake. Child’s play. She’s young, inexperienced, and from what I hear is doing a shit poor job of running a hotel.”

His tone is demeaning, not only toward me, but Carys as well.

My jaw clenches and I twist my neck in an effort to relieve some of the pent-up frustration and tension. “I’ll call you tomorrow after my meetings.”

“The Blue Bayou, Maverick. Nail that or I will.”

Over my dead fucking body.